


Watch and Learn

by Norski



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Jeff the killer - Fandom
Genre: Animal Death, Creepypasta, Murder, Violence, detailed choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norski/pseuds/Norski
Summary: Despite being cautious, despite being what you considered pretty safety savvy, you've fallen victim to something you never thought would happen to you. After just wanting to return home after a hard day, you instead find yourself struggling against someone malicious. You succumb to chloroform, as most living things would, and wake somewhere you don't recognize, at the mercy of someone who's so far gone you don't think he's retained his humanity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is hatefic. Jeff fangirls that think it would super cute uguu or whatever to be kidnapped by Jeff are fucking weird.
> 
> Enjoy what it'd actually be like
> 
> [Obviously, I don't condone the shit that happens, and if you do, seek help!]

The night air is cold on your face, even pulling your coat up around your neck hasn’t stopped the chill from setting in. You shiver as you walk, disgruntled by the dropping temperature. Yes, yes, winter happens, and winter was well on its way, but that didn’t mean you were going to be happy about being caught off guard by the cold. You stuff your hands in your pocket as you walk, taking a deep breath in, opening your mouth and exhaling, grinning like a child as your breath became misty, swirling through the air. Ah, small pleasures! After a few seconds of that though, you’re reminded again that the weather _sucks_ , and it’s dark. Now you’re not an idiot, you haven’t taken any shortcuts, you’ve stayed on the well lit, still fairly busy route, but it was still fairly uncomfortable. 

You were stupid enough to try save yourself a little money though, opting for walking home instead of taking the bus. Granted, it was a twenty minute walk, taking a bus was kinda wasteful, but you felt a little safer for it. You were nearly home at least, you could put the heating on, make a hot drink and chill out. You had a couple of days to yourself, prime time to wind down and forget everything for a while - hell knows you need it.

You turn the corner onto your street, picking up the pace a little, perked up by seeing your house. Hell yes, your favorite pajamas were fresh and clean too, tonight was going to be awesome. All you needed to do was get home- you freeze up, coming to a halt, whipping round to look behind you, an alarming noise catching your attention. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline spiking… over an equally startled wild rabbit that had collided with a trashcan. You frown for a moment, before laughing shortly. Ok, you know it’s a wild animal, and it’s fine, but you can’t help yourself. It’s right under a street light, looking dazed and confused, you just _have_ to snap a pic to show your friends later.

You take a few steps closer, kneeling down and pulling out your phone. You get a couple of pictures, a little concerned that the bunny still hasn’t gotten up yet. It’s breathing, you can see that, and it’s moving it’s head to look around, but doesn’t seem to be making any move to run away. You’re pulled out of your puzzling by the overwhelming feeling that something has come up behind you, a shadow looming over you confirming that suspicion not a second later. You grip your phone tightly, swinging your arm round as you try push up to your feet, adrenaline spiking again as you lash out at whatever approached you. You’re on your feet again, facing the direction of your house, your attack having connected with nothing. Right, fuck this, you’re going home.

You don’t even walk, you _run_ , you pelt it as fast as your legs will carry you. What gets you, though, is that your footsteps sound doubled up. It takes a second, you’re tired and not registering jack shit, but you realize - _something is chasing you_. You’re not going to get your key in the door before they catch up, they sound _so close behind you_. You can’t do anything to get into your house, just like you can’t do anything when you’re slammed against with the full weight of your attacker, crying out sharply. You hit the ground hard, head cracking off the pavement. Your head spins, pain exploding through your skull. Your eyes are searching wildly, trying to find someone, _anyone_ to plead for help from.

You don’t even get a word out before a rag is pressed to your face. Your screams are muffled through it, inhaling to scream more only damning you further. Eventually, your vision hazes out, and you slump to the ground, aware of the pressure being relieved from your body as the attacker stands, then you’re out.

By the time you wake up, you’re obviously not at home, or even on your street. You come to, and despite your instincts roaring at you to get up, run, escape - you don’t want to open your eyes. You don’t want to see where you are. A quick wiggle reveals that you’re not bound, or gagged, or even blindfolded, and so you become hopeful that this is a prank! Maybe one of your friends was getting you back for being a little shit the other week? That had to be it, kidnappers tie their victims up. You sit up, head pounding still, and open your eyes, hoping like hell to have woken up to a surprise prank from a friend-

You weren’t that lucky. The room you were in had bare concrete walls, you were on a mattress on the floor, the room lit by a dim and flickering bulb. Still clothed, too, it didn’t look like anything had been removed. You’re up on your feet in seconds, then damn near on the floor again, pain shooting through your head, neck and shoulders from the quick motion. You lean back against the wall closest to you, gritting your teeth, eyes screwed shut while you choke back a sob. You’ve been kidnapped. You’re in agony. You have no idea where you are. _You’re probably going to die_. You reckon a sob or two is pretty fucking understandable!

However, you also know you don’t have time to feel sorry for yourself. You don’t know how long you have to get out. You wobble your way towards the door of the room, unsurprised to discover it’s locked. The window is barred and boarded up, with no light coming through, it’s unlikely you’re going to be able to break metal bars, so you’re going to have to focus on the door. With how dizzy you are, even the thought of kicking the door, let alone kicking it _down_ , made your stomach turn, but you could puke later, right now you needed to focus on not dying.

You brace yourself, then start hammering the door with your foot, putting as much force as you can behind each kick. You fall on your ass a few times as expected, but it doesn’t stop you. You’ve got fire in your veins now, you’re going to get out! You’re going to escape! Fuck the guy that-

You flee back a few steps as you hear the lock on the door click, a few more as it opens. You expect to see the stereotypical grubby serial killer, with a scruffy beard, hunched figure, instead you’re greeted to someone much more horrific. Someone you don’t read as human for the first second. Your stance lowers in fear and shock, eyes blowing wide open at the sight of who you assume kidnapped you. He’s a head taller than you, even with his terrible posture, his hair dark and disgusting, no doubt near black because of how disgusting and unwashed it is. That wasn’t the worst of it, though, the worst? Was his face.

It was sickly pale, not quite sheet white but definitely not natural, bubbled and mangled, twisting at the corner of his eyes and mouth, his nose no existent, only two holes in his face. You realize, his face has been all but completely burned damn near clean off, his lips non existent, exposing his yellowed and rotting teeth to you, deep gashes in each cheek contorting his face into a permanent, unnatural grin, the edges of the scars ingrown and grotesque. His eyelids were twisted and barely functional, blinking clearly giving him trouble. His neck is equally as mangled and burned, partially hidden by what was once a white hoodie, now grey, patches of mold clinging to it, ample bloodstains littering it...you note that they’re both fresh and old.

“Stay back!” You shout, lifting your fists into a fighting stance. You’re pretty sure you can hold your own a little, this guy looks pretty frail! Sure he’s fast, but there’s no way he’s that strong, he looks like he hasn’t eaten a good meal in years, even under the hoodie. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Shh shh shh.” He takes a step towards you, both hands raised to his shoulders, showing you he isn’t armed, as if you can’t see the knife handle sticking out of his hoodie pocket. “Not going to hurt you, not you.” Ominous, and not actually comforting at all, thanks! “Not tied up, not hurt.”

Your head hurt but you felt like pressing that button wasn’t a wise decision. For now, he wasn’t hurting you, and looked like he didn’t have intentions to, so… roll with that.

“Where am I - why am I here?” You have a surprising lack of interest in who this guy is, curiosity about his face not quite overriding survival instinct. For half a minute there’s silence, while you’re observed by fuckface mcmike over here. Eventually he does answer you, his speech slurred, and weird, no doubt due to his lack of lips.

“Safe here.” He waves a hand dismissively. “You wont be hurt here.”

“But _where am I and why am I here?_ ”

“To learn, and hep me. Help me and learn some new things.” He nods and somehow that smile gets wider. “I want to teach you.”

“Teach me what?” You’re not that keen on private tuition from this freak of nature, but you’ll play his game until you can see a way out, then you’ll make a break for it. You frown deeply as he reaches a hand towards you, shuffling a little closer. You don’t want to take his hand, but you know it’s not optional, so warily you step closer, and reach for it.

“I’ll show you.” Is his only response. Your hand is never going to be clean again, your skin is crawling just from touching his, it’s better than being stabbed to death though, for now you’ll take it. He pulls you gently towards the door and out of the room, which you didn’t expect. In fact, you’re more unsettled by his gentleness than you would have been by him yanking on you. You follow him, looking at your surroundings as you do. All windows boarded, all doors open leading into rooms similar to the one you were in. You catch a glimpse of a staircase heading down as you’re pulled into another room, you make a mental note of it. 

Muffled crying starles you, pulling your attention away from looking at the staircase as you enter the room, snapping your head round to look inside instead. You didn’t think your eyes could open any wider, and yet. You take in the sight of three people tied up, two still alive, one debatably alive. You can’t see any breathing, and unlike the other two, they’re not thrashing or crying. One survivor is a woman, short blonde hair messy from being dragged around no doubt. Bound at the wrists and ankles, blindfolded and gagged, sat up on a banged up mattress. The other was a man, with the same restraints of the woman, except he was laid down on his side. His hair was missing clumps, scalp raw and bleeding.

“What-”

“You never even asked my name!”

You fall silent after you’re snapped at, not keen on how you’re being glared at. So you smile, remove your hand in his and nod your head a little.

“Sorry, I thought you were going to hurt me.” Your.. ‘companion’ calms down a little at that. “What’s your name?”

“Jeff.” He states almost proudly. He doesn’t ask your name, of course. “Your name is Match.”

Your name certainly isn’t Match, but your name also isn’t ‘stupid idiot that argues with a serial killer’. So you nod. Jeff shuts the door behind you now, he doesn’t lock it, which you make note of. He seems confident he can either keep you there, or that you actively _want_ to be there. Whichever one it was didn’t matter to you, the pathway to the stairs was considerably less obstructed than it could be.

“Come, come come come.” Jeff gestures for you to follow him towards the woman, who you realise now is also fully clothed, something else that surprises you. You do follow him, watching as he kneels beside the mattress. “Have - have you ever killed anything before?”

“Bugs.” You answer, gulping afterwards. You know where this is going, and you don’t want to have to do this in order to survive, but at the same time, you’d rather not die. “Bugs, and I didn’t take care of my fish when I was a kid.”

Jeff nodded a little. “Well. I’ve been doing this - this for seven years. Not people all the time, all the time.” He mumbled the repeated last three words, giving the woman a poke in the ribs. She cried out in fear, trying to bend her body away from him. “Animals, for most..” He looks up at you, somehow looking disappointed despite his inability to emote much. “I hoped, you would have more experience. It’s ok. You can learn.”

He stands, gesturing to the furthest corner of the room from you, you track him with your eyes shuffling back towards the door. He looks over his shoulder at you, shaking his head.

“Don’t go anywhere.” His voice is harsh and cold, but like hell are you listening to him. You nod and smile, inform him you wouldn’t dream of it. You feign like you want to see what’s about to happen...and bolt. You turn on your heels and dart for the door, shouldering it open. You’re down the stairs in a few seconds, clearing a hallway not long after that. It looks like a decent sized house, definitely abandoned if the moldy furniture you catch glimpses of is anything to go by. Your feet thunder towards the front door, praying like hell it isn’t locked. You attempt to shoulder slam it open, crying out in pain as it doesn’t budge or break. You recoil for a second, before trying the handle frantically.

Locked.

You notice then, that the door looks _new_.

You’re not conscious for long enough to notice much else.


	2. Chapter 2

You reckon you’ve blown it. You’re sat on ‘your’ mattress, in ‘your’ room, poking at bugs that crawl over it. You’ve been awake for hours by now, and there’s been no sign of Jeff. The door is still locked, and despite your best efforts had suffered no damage from your previous assault against it. You had panicked, you’d screamed, you’d cried. Now you find yourself in sullen resignation - you’ve pissed off the guy with a knife and a fetish for murder, and now you’re going to be just another news story that people forget about in an hour. When you hear the door open, fear grips you, head whipping up to look at Jeff as he enters the room. He looks mad, but instead of holding some kind of weapon, he’s holding a box. It’s about eight inches long and wide, about four deep.

“You didn’t need to run away.” He sounds disappointed. “I’m not going to hurt you. If you didn’t want to start with people, you could have just said. We can start smaller.” At that, he lifts the box he’s holding a little to gesture at it. He kicks the door shut behind him, approaching you. You can hear claws scratching against the sides of the box as he sets it down in front of you, opening it up. Inside, is a mouse. A mouse you know the fate of. “Give me your hand.” You don’t want to do this. The mouse is clearly hurt or drugged, only able to drag it’s back legs. “Give. Me. Your. Hand.” You do as he asks.

He guides your hand down to the box, brushing your fingers against the mouse in a stroking motion. 

“It’s very soft.” He comments. “And very sick.” He moves your hand again, this time pressing your palm right against the mouse. You shake your head and resist.

“No, Jeff, I don’t-”

“You have to, Match.” He informed you, forcing your hand down further. He’s strong, stronger than you’d thought, he’s leaving you very little choice. You continue to resist, but he’s winning the fight, forcing your hand down onto the mouse, who’s trying to thrash and struggle away. “You don’t want to know what I’d do to you.” Jeff whispers in your ear. “The things I’d enjoy doing to you. I’d keep you alive. Awake. Through all of it. You have lovely skin, Match. It’s so smooth, you don’t need all of it, do you? I want some. Imagine how you’d look with the skin parted just here...” He reached round with his free hand, tapping his way from your chest to your stomach. “You’d get to see what you look on the inside, I think you’d like that, since you’re too fucking scared to do anything else other than sit back and watch.” You’re shaking now, tears welling up in your eyes. “If you’re too weak to learn then I’ll just have to use you as-”

You stop fighting. The mouse shrieks and screams as your hand is forced down hard against it, crushing it agonizingly slowly. You hear bones crack, the disgusting sound of flesh being pressed, then there’s silence. Jeff releases your hand. You lift it away quickly, blood smeared across your hand. As you’d crushed it, blood had leaked from the mouse’s eyes, ears and nose, over your hand onto the bottom of the box. You stare at it, reliving the exact moment in your head when you felt the life leave it. _You felt the life leave it_. You’re horrified and shaking, but Jeff? He’s ecstatic.

“Was that so hard?” He tsk’d at you, taking the box from the mattress, sliding it across the floor towards the door. “You can eat now.” You nod dumbly as he takes your wrist, pulling you up from the mattress, you follow him, eyes at the floor. You’re not completely broken yet, not over a mouse. You’re going to bide your time, you need to make him trust you enough so that he doesn’t lock your door. All you need is your door open, and when he’s asleep, you can find a way out.

Conveniently he takes you downstairs to the kitchen, giving you a good look at the part of the house you hadn’t seen. The back door isn’t new, but it’s a sturdy wooden one, however… there’s a sizable catflap. Dogflap? You’re not certain you’d fit through it, but the door had been removed, causing a draft. There was bait leading in from the outside, no doubt that was how Jeff caught animals.

You’re sat at a table, on a chair that makes you feel like you want to set yourself on fire to escape the bacteria. Still, better than bleeding out. What isn’t better than death, though, is the food that’s put in front of you. You balk at the sight of it. There’s been an attempt to cook whatever meat it was, but you can tell it hasn’t been cooked through properly. You go to push the plate away, but Jeff is fixing you with a threatening stare.

“You eat, then you can have water.”

Once again, you have no choice. You exhale shakily, before picking up one of the chunks of meat. At the very least, it’s been cut into strips and cubes that you can eat in one mouthful. Too big to swallow whole though. You grimace, before getting it over with. The first cube is in your mouth, immediately you want to throw up. You start to chew, still fresh blood being forced out of it as you bite down, the sound and texture of raw meat making you gag. Still, you continue on, eventually chewing it enough to swallow.

Then you’re onto the next piece. It’s like chewing through slugs, you’ve never eaten slugs but this is exactly how you’d imagine it. It felt like you had slugs, snails, whatever in your mouth, the taste probably wasn’t much better.

“I read stories online sometimes.” He strikes up conversation. “About me. Not news stories? Some people online really want me to kidnap them? I thought you might be one of them.” You weren’t, you really, really weren’t, who would want that? Who was stupid enough? “You seem like the kind!” Fuck off, Jeff. “I just don’t think you’ve realized this is where you want to be, yet…”

Jeff stared until you’d cleared the plate of meat. He stands as you try and push the plate away, gripping your hair, forcing your head down onto the plate.

“Finish it!” He shouted, lifting your head and slamming it down,spattering your face and the table in blood, pain bursting from your cheek. “Finish it! Don’t fucking waste it! I’ll tear off your fingernails and dig your liver out with them!” You get the message. You shake and sob as you start to lick the blood up from the plate, stomach turning, raw meat and blood disagreeing with it. You’re made to clean the plate, and then the table. Once you’re done, Jeff releases your hair, genuinely pleased. You swear the bastard had an excited shine in his fucked eyes. “Good! See? Isn’t it better when you clear your plate? Isn’t it better to just do as you’re told instead of being my art?”

You nod, despite not agreeing at all. The water you’re offered is exactly as you expected it to be. In a gross cup, in pretty poor condition itself. You drink it as quickly as you can, afterwards you do your best not to throw up. You doubt you’ll be given anything else to eat for quite some time.

“You don’t understand much do you, Match?” You shake your head at Jeff’s question. You’re not arguing. “I didn’t think so… because you’re so scared of killing things. You don’t get it.” He hops up to sit on the grubby counter, brushing away roaches and hell knows what else as he does. “Killing things...it’s not about making them dead, you know. It’s not about them being dead.”

“What’s it about, then?”

“It’s about how much fun you have. If you’re not having fun you’re doing it wrong. Did you never pull spider legs off?” You grimace already, then shake your head, though in reality you don’t know if you pulled spiders legs off. He tsks at you. “Killing things is about the process. It’s an _art_ form, it’s not senseless if you do it right. See…” He leans forward on the counter a little, that same excited shine flickering in his eyes again. “When I killed animals, it was sad. They’re so cute, Match. They look at you with these big hopeful eyes. There’s no cruelty behind them. It’s not their fault. People on the other hand.” You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’s snarling now, brow furrowed deeply. “They’re awful, Match. They did this to me.” He gestures at his face. “They set me on fire. They put the fire out with bleach. They _left me on the floor_ in a puddle of it. I was thirteen. People aren’t innocent, no person is.” 

You don’t understand, still. Why are you so different? Why does he want to teach you if everyone is so bad?

“So...it’s better to do it to people.” He continues, nodding sagely. “Because when they look at me with their hopeful eyes, pleading for me to let them go, to stop, they understand me when I say no. There’s no confusion, they know I wont stop, the hope drains from their eyes so much faster. Sometimes they even give in, until I really get going. Even if they give in, when I take the blade and open them up...they scream. They shake their heads, beg for me to stop.” He lifts a hand to rest his chin on it. “But it’s so satisfying. I get to see what makes them tick underneath, it’s beautiful. Their intestines twitch and spasm, even if I take them out and put them aside, I like laying them over hooks and watching them while I work on the rest. The never appreciate it, but that doesn’t matter. I’m the artist, they’re the canvas, they’re to be modified as I wish.”

You’re not feeling better about any of this. The worst part is, you’re not restrained, but you can’t escape. Your gut is wrenching, your body is desperate to vomit, you’re not sure if making it out alive is going to be worth it in the end. Jeff’s off his fucking rocker, and he’s not planning on being nice and fluffy with you. You’re going to have to kill more and more things to satisfy his sick need to ‘teach’ you.

“It’s a shame you have to start with animals… they’re innocent. But their sacrifice will be for a good cause.”

You throw up over the table.


	3. Chapter 3

You’ve ‘worked your way up’ with guidance from Jeff. A few more mice, a couple of rats. Of course, for the rats, you couldn’t crush them with your hands. He had you use various… tools. You don’t want to think about that, so you’re doing your best to repress the memories. Rabbits, cats...you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been there. Your stomach has adjusted to eating raw meat and sparse store-bought food Jeff brings back, the water doesn’t make you feel sick now. The bugs on your bed bring you some weird kind of comfort now.

You’re no less pleased about your situation. You’re no less frustrated that you can’t escape despite being unrestrained. You’ve fallen into a glum depression, you appease Jeff when he asks you to do something. Earlier, you’d slipped up and had forgotten to clean your plate. He’d opened you wrist and spilled your own blood on the plate, and had made you drink that up, too. You’re pretty sure that wound was going to end up infected, the bandages he wrapped around it not looking overly sterile even straight out of a packet. Even if they were sterile, the one on your wrist certainly isn’t now.

You barely look up when the door unlocks and opens, grunting a short greeting, running your finger over a cockroach in front of you. They’re adjusting to your presence, and don’t mind being touched so much. You do look up when you hear claws clicking against the wooden floor, your heart dropping. Jeff had a dog with him, a fairly young looking german shepherd, who looked hyped as hell for life. You know exactly what’s about to happen, and now more than ever, you don’t want to do this. You’d rather be one of the dead victims than go through with this.

“This is Buddy.” Jeff pats the dog’s head, staring directly at you. “I found him outside a store. I’m sad we have to hurt him Match, I am. Please don’t think this makes me happy, but-”

“I need to learn.”

“Exactly.” He walks Buddy over to you, dropping the leash as the dog all but pounces you, licking your face, his whole body wagging. You lift your hands to pet him, smiling bitterly. It’s… nice, to pet a puppy, and after everything, you wanted it to be relief, but considering the state you’d see Buddy in soon? There was nothing comforting about his presence. You look up at Jeff once Buddy calms down a bit, hoping this is going to be a joke. Doesn’t Jeff love dogs? You swear he mentioned missing having one. You wonder if you can reason with him, maybe you can get Buddy out of the dog flap, claim he escaped.

“I think I can do more than a dog.” A lie, but...you can’t hurt Buddy. “Can we keep him,though?” You ask. You would try puppy eyes, or something, but you’ve learned that doesn’t work, you’d tried to keep a kitten and ended up eating it. 

“No.” Jeff’s response was firm. He produced a hunting knife from his pocket, holding it by the blade toward you. You take it from him, swallowing to dry and wet your dry throat. He’d instruct you on what to do, he always did. You wait patiently, scruffing Buddy’s chest fur while he contemplates what to make you do. “You need to incapacitate your target, you should know this.”

Oh, right. You wince, taking Buddy’s chin in your hand. He rest his head on your hand, brown loving eyes melting your fucking heart. You lift the knife, aiming the butt of the handle down. You’d learned how to do this. You knew it well. You mutter an apology to Buddy, before bringing your fist down, the butt of the knife connecting with the dog’s skull.

By the time you’re done with Buddy, you’d tried to kill yourself once. Jeff had stopped you, informing you that he felt the same, but art required sacrifice. You sit by Buddy’s body, smoothing your hand over what little fur he has left as his last breath shudders from his chest. You’re not sure how he survived so long, but you commend is will to live, even if you wish he’d given in long before then. You drop the knife to the floor, looking round at Jeff.

“He’s dead.”

“Good.” Jeff stayed where he was, making no move to take the body away. You’ve learned what that means, too. You pick the knife up again, and get to work removing flesh from bone until Jeff was satisfied. He takes what you’d carved away first, then the rest of Buddy. The blood on your floor stinks, Buddy was considerably bigger than the last thing you’d killed, and so you feel like the stench wont leave for some time. You try to remember what his face looked like when it still had fur on it, but the memory has been replaced with his yelping, skinned face trying to find a way to escape, despite being as good as dead at that point.

You try to rack your brain for what could be next. Livestock? A bigger dog? A goat seemed likely. The worst part is, you’re learning wonderfully. You know how to skin and gut something alive. You know how to deflesh something to get an adequate amount of meat from it for meals. You’ve even learned to keep your hand on the body while the life leaves it, Jeff’s none too happy when you don’t. Many a thing has died under your hands, and you wonder is your one life really worth all of this? 

You eat silently when you’re taken to do so, you drink your water silently. Jeff has a new...thing, he does. After a meal, he holds you to his chest and strokes your hair. He stinks, he’s disgusting, but you don’t smell any better now. You stay silent and still while he holds you, hands resting on his back to as not to piss him off. You’ve wondered how possible it would be for him to forget about the hunting knife he gives you to kill with, to hide it in your sleeve, stab the bastard right in the back while he holds you. That plan is more likely than hm forgetting to lock the door, he’s religious with that.

Your next kill isn’t a goat you soon discover. Instead of your victim being brought to your room, you’re taken to the room next to the stairs again. There’s a young man tied so his arms and legs are spread out, kinda like a starfish. He’d clothed, and you’re not given your knife. Jeff claps you on the back, a clear signal to approach. You grit your teeth, panic rising in your chest. No, no no _no_ , you thought it’d be a goat or another dog, you’d rather it be another Buddy. You do as you’ve learned, though, approaching the man, who is neither blindfolded nor gagged.

“Who- who are you?” He asks, his voice high pitched from terror. He couldn’t be any older than nineteen. “Please don’t hurt me! I-I’ll give you money! My house! Anything you want!” You don’t reply. You just follow Jeff’s instructions. In the end, you’re straddling the man’s chest, Jeff behind you straddling his stomach. He takes your hands, guiding them to the poor victim’s throat. It fits so nicely in your hands as your fingers are wrapped around it. You’ve learned something, since Jeff took you.

You’ve learned to dissociate.


	4. Chapter 4

“Watch his face.” Jeff tells you. Your eyes are on the man’s terrified face, but you’re not registering much. You can tell he’s scared, you can hear what Jeff is saying, but you’re out of it. You’re forcing yourself to distance. You can’t do this in your right mind. “Watch….” Jeff forces your hands tighter around the throat under them, restricting oxygen flow immediately. You can feel the man struggling beneath you, you can see him gasping, trying to shout for help. “Look at him. Watch his eyes, he’s scared. He’s crying, he’s wishing all of this wasn’t real…” Jeff’s voice is right in your ear, it’s low, almost a growl. “He’s praying to a God he doesn’t believe in, praying to be free. For a miracle. It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

You don’t reply. You watch as the man’s eyes water, tears rolling down his cheeks. His face twitches as his mouth gapes, drool now starting to leak from the corners. His eyes are bulging, your hands gripping tighter. 

“He can feel it.” Jeff continues, still right in your ear. You can’t detach while he’s talking like this. “He can feel that he’s going to die, can’t you?” He coos at the man you’re killing, choking the life out of. “You know you don’t stand a chance? Doesn’t it feel good to be part of the bigger picture, though? You’ll die for a good cause….” You don’t react when the man gasps for air again and shakes his head again, somehow managing to sob. His chest is collapsing, you can feel it. Every time he gasps, it dips just a little more. “He’s so close.” Jeff laughs softly, breathlessly, like he’s witnessing something of great beauty. “You’re doing so well, Match. Just a little longer...look at you go. You were so nervous before.” 

With one final heave, eyes bulging, the man beneath you goes still. You hold a little longer, coming back to reality a little more. His face is wet from tears and spit, having turned a weird red-purple from the strain of trying to breathe.

It’s then you realize Jeff’s hands aren’t on yours. They haven’t been for quite some time. You release the dead man’s neck, eyes wide. Your hands shake, _you_ shake, looking from his face to the hands you killed him with. You feel Jeff’s fingers in your hair, while he murmurs soft praises to you, rubbing it in that you did this, for the most part, by yourself. Your body starts to sway, you’re starting to feel light headed. Before you know it, you’re tumbling to the side, hitting the floor, dizzy and stunned on the floor. You hear Jeff call your name, concerned, but he sounds so far away. You lose consciousness not long later.

You’re back in ‘your’ room when you do come round again. The first thing you do is lean over your mattress and vomit up the scarce contents of your stomach, trembling once you’re done. You watch as various bugs scuttle over to start scavenging from it, beyond finding it gross. You’d seen and done enough in the past while that bugs going to town on puke was tame. You’d rather be dead than here. You’d rather be dead than here. 

You realize, _you’d rather die here than live with what you’d done_. 

When Jeff comes to check on you, you smile at him. A bright, beaming grin, which seems to take him off guard. You reach out to him, tears welling up in your eyes, biting back a sob. 

“I want another animal today.” You inform him, in the most chipper voice you can manage. “I want my next person to be more special. I need practice.” You’re worried you came off far too strong for the half minute of silence, relieved when Jeff claps his hands together, smiling.

“I have a cat downstairs.” He informs you, visibly delighted by how you had ‘perked up’. “What has you so excited Match? You passed out yesterday.”

Ah, fuck.

“You were right, it’s beautiful.” You feel sick. “Watching his eyes…” That was enough for Jeff, who borderline hope-skip-jumped out of the room. He didn’t close or lock the door, you weren’t stupid enough to follow him though. Not yet. He returns with the cat, handing you it. You take it was eagerly as you can, same with the hunting knife.

Poor cat. It’s your favorite breed, too.

It’s still yowling then you offer Jeff its back legs. “Can you cook these?” He’s too happy and giddy to question you or reason it out, he takes the legs from you, taking off out of the room.

You end the cat’s life swiftly then, tucking the hunting knife into the sleeve after skinning it further and cutting the body up a little to make it look like you’d done more than you actually had. He still hadn’t shut the door, giving you a good opening. You leave, carrying the cat, though you don’t run. You walk calmly, down the stairs. You make your way down the hall, into the kitchen. Jeff’s a little startled to see you, but there’s no anger in his expression.

“Oh I didn’t shut the door…?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I’m done with the cat.” You place it down on the countertop beside him. He’s ‘cooking’ the cat’s legs over a small open fire in the sink. It’s fine, though. It’ll be the last meal you ever have to eat there, in that putrid house. You knew this was the end of the line, one way or another. You’re tired, you’re miserable, and after feeling the life of another person slip away under your palms, you fear nothing. You talk with Jeff while the two of you cook the cat and eat, not bothering with sitting or plates. You eat as pieces are ‘done’. You’re no longer disgusted by raw meat, it’s tasteless now, the texture doesn’t even cross your mind.

Once the cat’s been stripped of meat worth the hassle, you move to press your head into Jeff’s chest. The action doesn’t go unappreciated, Jeff holding you tight, one hand in your hair as always. You flick your arms down as if you’re adjusting your sleeves, giving you the means to grab the knife you’d stored there. You lift your arms to behind his back, but he’d not be getting his usual hug, no.

Quickly and as hard as you can, you plunge the knife into his back, aiming for the soft part on the left. Jeff cried out and arches like a wounded animal, letting go of you. You pull the knife harshly to the side to force the wound open further, pulling the knife out at that angle and fleeing back. Jeff collapses against the countertop, shocked more than injured. You’re not in a movie though, you don’t hesitate to give him a monologue. You go for the eyes. You swing the knife at his face, he doesn’t move back in time and takes the blade, shrieking. You only got one eye, but that’s better than none. The dog flap isn’t too far now, and so you start inching back towards it while Jeff tries to recover, howling in pain, distress, _rage_. You wont get down on your knees and out of the dog flap before he’s on you, you know that much. He’s already starting to recover, turning to look at you. He pushes himself up from the countertop, staggering his way towards you.

This was it. You either kill him now or he’s going to kill you. Either way, you’re not going to have to kill another person again. Jeff wasn’t a person to you, not anymore. He’d lost his humanity long, long ago. You were just putting a rabid dog down.

“I thought-” You don’t let Jeff finish. You don’t care about what he has to say. You throw yourself forward, shoulder colliding with his chest, winding him. He crumpled to the floor, damn near taking you with him. You manage to stay steady somehow, lifting your foot quickly after and curb stomping him directly in the chest. He wheezes, and you bring your foot down again. He coughs, blood spurting from between his teeth, and it’s such a satisfying sight you hesitate. Jeff’d hands fly up, grabbing your leg as you lift it again, throwing you off balance completely. You tumble over him and to the floor, narrowly avoiding sticking yourself in the gut with the knife in your hand. You try roll, too slow. Jeff’s over you, pinning your hands down either side of you. You glare up at him, trying to break free. His breath stinks, he’s leaning right in, the grin cut into his face makes you want to puke now you’re seeing it up close.

“Did you think you’d escape?” He asks, laughing softly. His eye is fucked, you note. You can see a jelly-like substance dripping out of the socket with the blood. “Did you think-”

“Shut _up_!” You slam your head into his, gritting your teeth hard enough you hear a crack was the wave of dizziness hits you. It does the trick though, and Jeff’s distracted enough you work one hand free and nail him in the side of the head with your fist. He collapses to the floor at your side, giving you enough time to roll away from him and get up onto your knees.

You go wild on his body. He screams and lashes as you lift and bring the knife down into his flesh over and over. His chest, his stomach, anywhere you and reach. He sounds less like a person and more like an animal as he yelps and cries out, by the time he’s too weak to fight back, he’s twitching and gasping, spasming every few seconds. You roll him onto his back, fear wild in one of his eyes. You straddle his chest, giving his cheek a pat. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You ask bitterly, wrapping your hands around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can. He can barely struggle, but you can feel him trying, and oh how he’s trying. “Doesn’t it feel good to be part of the bigger picture?” His movements are slowing down as you feel tears soak your cheeks. You’re not sad, especially not for Jeff. No, you’re _overwhelmed_ , and all you can do is cry. As you feel Jeff passing, you smile down at him. “Just go to sleep, ok?”

He’s gone seconds later. For good measure, you jam the knife into the front of his throat, give his body a hearty kick, before turning to the door. You had a whole load of choices for once, something you thought you’d jump at. You thought that, the day you have your freedom back, you’d be overjoyed! 

Instead, you’re lost. You look back to Jeff, his one eye staring forever at the ceiling, knife sticking out of his neck almost comically. He wasn’t going to tell you what to do now. You turn your eyes back to the door, dragging your feet as you approach. You’re exhausted, now it’s all over. The fatigue starting to hit you all at once. You drop to your knees and crawl out of the dog flap on your belly. It’s a tight fit, but you’re emaciated enough you manage it. The air is cold, not that you can find it in you to care. Broad daylight stings your eyes, you lift a hand to shield them while you stand, trying to blink to adjust to the light. Once you can see, you know where you are. You used to visit this end of town for shits and giggles. It was completely abandoned - condemned, actually. How fucking hilarious, you were half an hour’s walk from home all this time.

You trudge on through the decrepit houses, finding the hole in the fence you used to sneak through every time you broke in to do some exploring. You could care less that you end up with gashes in your arms and face as you push your way through. Your eyes are fine so why should come cuts matter?

You get some weird looks as you walk through town towards your house. People are taking pictures, videos, you can hear someone calling an ambulance. You look down at yourself. Oh, yeah, right. You’re covered in blood and little bits of viscera, aren’t you? You look like you’ve just brutally killed someone - then again, you _had_ just done that. You laugh softly to yourself as you stop walking, turning to the person you can hear speaking to the ambulance dispatcher. You raise your hands slightly. You’re not armed. You’re harmless.

You hear sirens as both the police and an ambulance show up round about the same time.

The next few weeks were going to be unbearable, you feel.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully that was uncomfortable


End file.
